“We’ll be hittin’ that in a couple of days, I figure,” Preacher said. “But the worst is behind us.”
“What you gonna do when we get these pilgrims to the promised land?” Beartooth asked him.
“Loaf for a couple of days, then head back East to the mountains. I got me a little task to do.”
“And what might that be, Preacher?” Dupre asked.
Beartooth, Jim, and Nighthawk all grinned at one another.
“I got me a score to settle with a feller name Bum and an Injun named Red Hand. You boys can come along if you like.”
“Well, my goodness gracious!” Beartooth said. “Thankee kindly for the in-vite. I allow as to how I might just do that. How ’bout you boys?”
“I wouldn’t miss it for the world,” Jim said.
“I’d feel left out by not goin’ along. How ’bout you Nighthawk?”
“Ummm!”
* * *
Many of the rogue Indians that had joined Red Hand had now left him. It was obvious to all that Preacher had tricked them and taken the southern route across the Cascades. Even the most stupid among them knew that to attempt to follow would amount to naught. By the time they recrossed the river and picked up the trail of the wagon train, the movers would be across the mountains and into the valley. To attack a wagon train that close to the fort would be very foolhardy.
Even many of Red Hand’s own band had given up in disgust and headed back to more familiar ground. Bum’s band of trash and outlaws had shrunk to about twenty-five.
On a cool early autumn morning, Bum watched as Red Hand and his people saddled up and broke camp. He walked over to the renegade.
“Givin’ up?” the outlaw asked.
“There will be another time,” the Indian said. “To pursue now would be pointless. We ride back east.”
“Mind if me and my boys ride with you?”
“Do as you wish.” He swung into the saddle. “We will cross the river just north of where the Snake flows.” He turned his pony’s head and rode off.
Bum walked back to where his men lay on the ground. Leo tossed a stick into the fire and said, “No women, no gold, no nothin’.”
“It ain’t over yet,” Bum said, then smiled.
“Whut you grinnin’ ’bout?” one of his men asked him.
“Well, I’ll just tell you,” Bum said, sitting down and pouring a cup of coffee. “It come to me whilst I was talkin’ with Red Hand. Seedy, didn’t you tell me you’d been to Fort Vancouver recent?”
“Only about six months ago.”
“And the brand new buildin’ for the missionary’s church was not in the fort?”
“Oh, no. It’s a good three, four miles from there. They built it a-purpose there so’s the Injuns would feel better ’bout comin’ in to it.”
Bum sipped his coffee and chuckled. “Bustin’ our butts for nothin’. That’s what we been doin’.”
“Whut you mean?” Leo asked, scooting closer to Bum.
“Them folks in the wagon train don’t know us. How could they? They ain’t never seen us. Don’t nobody at the fort know us. It stands to reason that them women missionaries and the gold is gonna be at the church. Seedy said the livin’ quarters was in the rear of the buildin’. It’s three, four miles from the fort. All alone, ain’t it, Seedy?”
“You bet.”
“Preacher and them sorry friends of hisn is sure to be hell-firin’ back toward us to finish this fight,” Bum said with a grin. “All we got to do is be a little careful and just head straight west from here and then cut south. You boys see what I’m gettin’ at?”
“Kind of,” Jack Harris said. “But ain’t that sort of risky? If we’re thinkin’ along the same lines, that is.”
“Not really. We can go in and grab the gold and the women and be gone hours ’fore anybody discovers the bodies. Far as that goes, we can kill some damn Injuns and chuck their bodies in there and burn the place down. Who’d know the difference?”
“I like that,” Beckman said. “We could grab us a couple of young squaws, hump ’em ’til we’re ready to go, and then kill ’em.”
“Good idea,” Bum said. “They’s lots of fall berries now and the squaws’ll be out pickin’ ’em to make pemmican. Should be easy to grab a couple young ones. But we’re gonna have to be real quiet about it and when the deed is done, we’re gonna have to move fast and far. And we’re gonna have to be careful about which tribe the squaws belong to.”
“Amen to that,” Slug said. “I damn shore don’t want no Digger woman.”
“That wasn’t what I meant!” Bum admonished him.
“Oh,” Slug said.
“When do we ride?” Waller asked.
“Let’s give Red Hand and his boys a couple of hours to get clear away. We can be breakin’ camp and packin’ up now, just in case that damn renegade left someone behind to snoop and spy on us.”
“What did you mean?” Slug asked.
“Oh, forget it, Slug!” Bum said.
“Which would you rather have on you trail, Slug?” Jack asked. “A peaceful Injun, or a Blackfoot?”
“Oh!” Slug said. “Right.”
* * *
Preacher rode slowly back to the wagon train. He had not told any of them that on that day, they would be done with the mountains and looking out over the huge valley that lay south of the Columbia. They had reached the promised land.
Despite the fact that most of the movers considered him to be a sarcastic, heartless, and sour man—Preacher was none of those things—he was proud of this bunch of pilgrims. They had done what no one, to the best of his knowledge, had ever done. And he knew that all of them with the exception of Wade and his two-bit kid, Avery, would be bigger and better people for the trip. Preacher knew, too, that not all of them would survive out here.
Injuns would get a few, the fever would take a few more, accidents and other mishaps would claim still a few more. But those that would live could be proud of what they’d done.
And speaking of Avery and his pa ...
The father had gotten all up in Preacher’s face just the day before, after Preacher had raised his voice and fussed at the young man for being a laggard, which he certainly was. Lazy no-count pup. The father said when they crossed the mountains, he was gonna put a butt-whipping on Preacher that the mountain man would never forget. So Preacher knew that he was gonna have to stomp on Wade some.
Preacher was looking forward to it. He’d had a belly full of the man. No dancing this time around.
Preacher rode through the timber, figuring the movers had about five hundred more yards to go ’fore they broke free and could stand on the plateau that overlooked the valley. He carefully tucked his smile away.
Beartooth winked at him when he rode back to the train. “Gonna tell ’em?”
“Not just yet.” He looked up at the sky. Not even noon yet. He looked at a man leaning on his axe and looking at him. Preacher was not well-liked and he was well aware of that fact. It bothered him not a whit. “You figure on that tree maybe fallin’ down all on its own, Brewer?” he asked cheerfully.
The mover gave him a dirty look and went back to chopping.
Preacher rode up to Melody. “Come on,” he told her. “I want to show you something. Richard, you and Edmond and Penelope come along.”
Preacher stopped them just before timber’s edge.
“This is it?” Penelope asked, looking around her. “This is the same thing we’ve been seeing for weeks.”
“Y’all ride out there on that flat and take a good look. Go on. I’ll wait here.”
Preacher stepped out of the saddle, eased the cinch on Hammer, and squatted down, chewing on a blade of grass.
“Yeeee-haw!” he heard Richard shout.
“Waa-hoo!” Edmond momentarily forgot his churchly bearing.
A mover rode up, his long rifle at the ready. “My God, is it the red savages?”
“Nope,” Preacher said, standing up. “You home, pilgri
m.”
2
The pioneers, many of them ragged and gaunt, stood on the plateau and gazed in disbelief at the lush and green valley that lay before their eyes. Many of them wept, still others dropped to their knees and prayed, giving thanks to God for getting them safely through the wilderness. Only a few of them included the mountain men in those prayers ... at first. Then, as they realized they never would have made it without the help of Preacher and his friends, they all formed a huge circle and linked hands, offering quiet prayers for Preacher, Dupre, Nighthawk, Trapper Jim, and Beartooth.
“We ought to be fairly blessed, I reckon,” Beartooth said to his friends, standing away from the circle of pioneers.
“That’s good,” Jim said, “for I ’spect that we’re gonna need all the help we can get when Gabriel sounds the call.”
Swift decided at that moment it was a good time to rally the movers and get them down from the plateau. He gave a mighty blast on his bugle and like to have scared the mountain men out of their britches.
“That does it,” Dupre said, when he had settled his badly jangled nerves. “I’m a-gonna snatch that bugle away from him and stomp it so flat not even an angel could toot it.”
Laughing, Preacher calmed his friend then turned to Jim. “Jim, ride yonder to the river and get one of them Injuns that’s always hangin’ around to canoe you ’crost and tell the chief factor we got a whole passel of pilgrims waitin’ on this side. You might as well spend the night and ride back in the mornin’.”
“See you boys then,” Jim said with a grin. “I’ll be thinkin’ ’bout you when I belly up to the bar.”
“Don’t you drink up all the whiskey now, you hear me,” Dupre warned him.
Jim waved and rode off toward the river.
“Are we reasonably safe from Indian attack here?” a mover asked Preacher.
“No,” the reply was flat and fast given. “But you are safer here than at any other time behind you. If some of you are thinkin’ ’bout stayin’ on this side of the river and farmin’, best thing you can do is build your cabins close together for protection.”
“We are thinking that, Preacher. It’s so beautiful.” He stuck out his hand and Preacher shook it. “Thank you, sir.” He looked at the others. “Thank you all.”
“I reckon,” Dupre said, after the man had left them, “that we could take a few days time to see that these pilgrims know how to notch logs and the like.”
“That would be the Christian thing to do, all right,” Beartooth said.
“I think you’re all plumb loco,” Preacher said.
Nighthawk looked at him. “Ummm!”
* * *
That night the skies opened up and it started raining.
“Never fails out here,” Preacher said. “Wettest damn place I ever been in all my en-tar life. I’d sooner build me a cabin under a waterfall.”
“I long for the Rockies,” Dupre said. “You figure on win-terin’ where, Preacher?”
“I ain’t give it no thought. Damn shore ain’t gonna be near here, I can tell you true on that.”
“You might oughta wrap your robe around that blonde-haired filly and snuggle up clost to her when the snow flies,” Beartooth suggested. “She’d keep a man warm, I’m thinkin’.”
“Bes’ thing for you to do is close that fly-trap of yourn,” Preacher told him.
“I be’s hongry around my mouth,” Beartooth wisely took the suggestion to heart. “I’d like to have me a bear steak right about now, just a-fairly drippin’ with fat.”
“Dream on,” Dupre said. “That mover’s woman over yonder said she was a-cookin’ up mush and we’s welcome to eat with them.”
“I hate mush.”2
“It ain’t bad if she’ll let it harden some and then fry it in fat. Get it crispy and it’s right tasty,” Preacher said. “My momma use to fix it thataway for breakfast. But I ain’t no friend to gruel.” He took a sip of coffee. “Was you boys serious ’bout stayin’ around for a time and lendin’ a hand so’s these poor helpless children can get set up for winter?”
“Why not?” Dupre said. “You got anywheres else you got to be in a hurry?”
“Can’t say as I have.”
“Then it’s settled,” Nighthawk said.
“Oh, all right,” Preacher had to grouse about it a little. “If I didn’t I’d never hear the last of it. Y’all’d rag me about it forever. Personal, I think you all got you eyes on some mover’s woman. That’s what I think. Come the spring y’all probably still be here, scratching in the ground and plantin’ taters and the like.”
They were still bitching, telling the most outrageous of lies and insulting one another when the last lantern in the wagon train was turned down.
Melody and Penelope and Richard and Edmond arranged for passage across the Columbia and Preacher was out hunting when they left—deliberately gone. About half the wagon train elected to cross the river to settle on the north side, the remainder choosing to remain on the south side. Despite his grumblings and sour attitude—which by now everybody knew was all an act and not the real Preacher—the mountain man really liked the pilgrims and in a way, felt responsible for them. It was a strange feeling for the normally solitary man. So the time went by quickly in the building of corrals and stables, stockades and the homes that would stand inside them. One day Preacher looked up and found that he and the others had been in the valley almost three weeks.
“Time do fly when a body’s a-havin’ fun, don’t it, Preacher?” Dupre said with a grin.
Preacher nodded, his eyes on Beartooth who was returning from the fort, and pushing his mount hard. Dupre followed Preacher’s eyes and said, “Somethin’s wrong, Preach.”
“I gleaned that right off. Where’s Jim and Hawk?”
“Out huntin’ supper.”
“It better not be fish. I’m gettin’ mighty tired of fish.”
“I didn’t say they was spearin’ it. I said they was huntin’ it. Must be time for us to leave, you’re gettin’ crotchety and hard of hearin’, too.”
“I ain’t neither.”
“Is too.”
Beartooth swung down. “Ol’ John Billingly was at the fort, provisionin’ up for the winter. He just come in from the East. Says Red Hand and his bunch was ridin’ hard back to their own territory, but without Bum Kelley and his bunch. And they was two raggedy lookin’ hardcases just a-hangin’ around the fort. They pulled out quick when they spied me eyeballin’ ’em.”
“Have some coffee and tell us the rest of it,” Preacher told him.
“How’d you know they’s more?”
“’Cause you wouldn’t have been forcin’ that poor animal of yourn to tote you so fast if there weren’t. I swear if you get any fatter, we gonna have to buy an elephant from some circus for you to ride.”
“You’re an unkind man, Preacher,” Beartooth said, pouring a cup full of brew that looked strong enough to melt a horseshoe, and probably was.
“What I am is truthful. What else is they?”
“That church that your sweetie is livin’ at is located a good four mile from the fort. Plumb isolated, it is. Chief factor told me it was done deliberate so’s the Injuns would come to it better.”
“And Richard told me they would keep the gold at the church headquarters,” Preacher said. “Do they have any fightin’ men out at the church?”
“Nope. Couple of tame old Chinooks is all. They sweep and dust and the like, the factor said.”
“I don’t like it,” Dupre said. “I don’t like it at all.”
“Neither do I,” Preacher agreed. “I think what we’ll do is this...”
* * *
It was an emotional farewell from those settlers who had stayed south of the river. The women and the kids squalled and the men stood brave and fought back tears. Preacher cut it short, waved farewell, and the mountain men turned their horses and rode away. The settlers watched them until they were out of sight and then with a sigh, turned and once more beg
an preparing their cabins for the winter that was not far off.
Preacher and his friends rode east for a day, camped, and then come the morning, headed north, just in case Bum had men watching them.
“You know where they’s a good crossin’ on the Columbia, Hawk?” Preacher asked.
“No. But I know where we can cross ... if the water’s low and we’re lucky.”
Days later they were still looking for Bum and his gang.
The chief factor at the fort had been warned by Dupre about the large amount of gold carried by the missionaries, and the danger of an attack on the church by the Kelley gang. The factor had listened, and then informed the Frenchman that while he would do what he could to insure the safety of the missionaries, those who choose to settle far away from the fort were really not his concern.
His words sounded a lot colder than they really were. The factor just didn’t have the manpower to look after everybody. No one had asked the missionaries to come out—they did that on their own. His primary concern was to protect the goods of the company who employed him.
The mountain men ran into a hunting party of friendly Cayuses and stopped to palaver with them.
“Southwest of the Lewis,” the leader told them. “Just on the edge of the big timber. Many whites are camped. They are not friendly and we did not attempt to camp near them. They are not trappers. I don’t know what they are ... I think perhaps they are thieves. I do not trust them.”
Preacher thanked him and they rode on.
“Five open hands of men,” Nighthawk said. “That’s a goodly number, but somewhat less than we faced a month ago.”
“A lot of his followers have left him,” Preacher said. “Maybe we’ll get lucky and put an end to Bum Kelley.”
Beartooth wasn’t so sure about that. “That no-count’s been around a long time, Preach. A lot of men has tried to put him in the ground.”
“I’d settle for Jack Harris,” Dupre said. “He’s been givin’ trappers and guides and the like a bad name for years.”
“I’m greedy,” Preacher replied. “I want ’em all.”
* * *
The First Mountain Man Page 27